


Intuition

by TheCrackedKatana



Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-Discovery, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 02:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3633864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCrackedKatana/pseuds/TheCrackedKatana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journey to Jedi Knight is more than simply the acquisition of skill.  It is a personal process often fraught with painful self-discovery and decisions that can change the course of one's destiny.  When Qui-Gon falls ill during a mission to find a missing comrade, Obi-Wan is forced to assume the role of Master in order to ensure Qui-Gon's survival.  Can the younger Jedi trust in the guidance of his own intuition or will fear and self-doubt cloud his judgement to a fatal degree?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Chapters may alternate between character view points, but never within the same chapter. I assumed Obi-Wan to be in his very early 20's at this point, old enough to be past the point of the awkwardness of teen years, but still young enough to be vulnerable to the fears and doubts we all have at this age. Also, hurt/comfort is a thing with me. Expect plenty.
> 
> I update frequently, sometimes every few days. This fic is actually finished and is just in the editing phase, so I hope you enjoy my nonsense!

Endless rain. Wretched chill. Qui-Gon Jinn had seen his fair share of dreary, inhospitable weather, but this planet had fine-tuned the art and mastered it.

"Master, we must seek shelter before darkness falls!"

Obi-Wan's voice was a faint buzz overridden by a combination of howling wind and stinging rain. After several days of sloughing through muck and misery, neither Jedi had managed to locate any sign of civilization, much less their missing comrade.

Across the swollen river, a protrusion of rock slick with furred greenery suggested a suitable location to retire for the evening, but was the crossing of the body of water that concerned him. Several downed tree trunks presented a passable option, although he hadn't any clue as to their stability or condition. If the wood was soft and rotten, the choice to use them as a bridge could be a fatal one. While Qui-Gon fancied himself an accomplished swimmer, the river's current might prove too formidable a force. Still, there was little choice in the matter. If they wished to continue in any form regardless of the rain, the river would have to be crossed.

"There." Qui-Gon nodded towards the cave-like structure. 

_"There?"_ Obi-Wan repeated. "But Master . . ."

"Yes, I know," Qui-Gon interrupted. "We shall have to cross here. Come and do it quickly before the water rises."

As usual, Obi-Wan merely nodded. The young apprentice's trust was unwavering, even if he did seem to question Qui-Gon's somewhat impulsive judgment at times. And if Qui-Gon were being honest, such questioning had proven beneficial to the both of them more than once.

"Take hold of the branches," Qui-Gon all but shouted above the wail of the wind. "Follow my lead." 

A quick assessment revealed that the largest fallen tree was not necessarily the best option, so Qui-Gon opted for a younger version whose bark was still green and supple with no trace of rot. The array of branches provided a sturdy passage without resorting to hands and knees and he navigated the way with relative ease, pausing to aid his struggling apprentice with an encouraging word or a firm grip. 

A vortex of frothing debris battered the sides of the trunk from every angle, surging over his boots, adding the already treacherous terrain. Forced to rely on instinct rather than the visual outlay of the wood, Qui-Gon slowed his pace so that Obi-Wan could match the placement of his feet. Or at least, that was his hope. Given the state of the other man's breathing, he suspected there would soon be a problem.

"Your concern for the river's swiftness is overriding your focus, Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon called over his shoulder. "Do not hesitate."

The Jedi Master foresaw the miscalculation in Obi-Wan's footing before it happened. His hand shot out to grasp his apprentice's upper arm, jerking him out of a slick stumble as a wave of muddy water all but crushed the branch Obi-Wan had gripped only moments ago.

"Master . . . " the younger man panted.

"Hesitation is the mark of fear," Qui-Gon said. "Move, do not think. Trust your instincts."

But Obi-Wan's foresight proved to be challenging handicap. Twice, the younger man lost his footing, but managed to keep from tumbling into the rapids thanks to a combination of quick reflexes and Qui-Gon grabbing hold of his wrist. A sickening crack foretold of their limited time and the Jedi Master increased his speed, hurrying towards the edge of the fallen tree just in time to witness the edges split and fray. A five foot expanse of water now separated the two Jedi from an welcome swim and the muddy shoreline.

Drawing deep breath, Qui-Gon concentrated his focus on the embankment, summoning the energy of the Force to him as if it were a coiled spring and embracing the momentum as a part of himself. He cleared the distance between the wood and water with ease, landing in a crouch on the opposite side.

And to his horror, realized Obi-Wan was not quite as adept. Qui-Gon plunged into the water, his hand fisting the material of Obi-Wan's robes as he all but dragged the struggling man ashore just in time to witness the branches of the tree splinter into shards, whisked away by a foam-infused wave of water, obliterating what once was as if it had never been at all.

Once beneath the shelter of the rock, Obi-Wan dropped to his knees in a panting heap, clutching at the muddied grass while Qui-Gon waited patiently for the other Jedi to come to terms with his solid footing once more.

"I am sorry, Master," the younger Jedi said as he hauled himself to his feet. "My hesitation almost cost us dearly."

"Then you have learned well," Qui-Gon assured him. He raised a draping sleeve with a look of distaste. "And it is not as if we could get any wetter." 

And wasn't that the honest truth of the matter. Everything from his cloak to his boots was a sodden, dripping mess. While he doubted there was anything salvageable for kindling, at least the angle of the rocks afforded shelter from the wind and the rain. With no sign of animals or any other beings, Qui-Gon deemed the area safe enough for a night's rest. At least the area near the far side of the make-shift cave was dry enough.

Obi-Wan leaned against the nearest rock, wringing water from his cloak and running a hand through the damp spikes of his hair. "And here I thought Tatooine an inhospitable planet."

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Indeed. Perhaps the rains shall relent enough for us to continue our venture in the morning."

An eloquent lie, to say the least. With only a brief respite from the torrential downpour in the past two days, Qui-Gon was more than certain that both he and Obi-Wan were destined to remain human sponges. Space itself was a cold, often frigid climate, but that he could bear. Being perpetually soaked to the bone was a different matter altogether.

"There are some branches here," Obi-Wan said. "I shall try to make a fire."

A half-smile curved Qui-Gon's lips. "Best of luck with that, my young friend."

"You underestimate me, Master," Obi-Wan said.

True enough. He often did. While his apprentice set about the task of wrestling the ancient branches from the nest of rocks, Qui-Gon took their soaked outer robes to the edge of the cave's mouth and began the arduous process of trying to wring as much moisture from the material as possible. Even if Obi-Wan did succeed in making a fire, it would take several hours for their clothing to dry in this state. Best to help speed the process along as best he could before--

Qui-Gon paused, water dripping from his wrists. There it was again, that unease. The unbalanced aura he done his best to ignore for the past day or so. It wasn't so much a disturbance in the Force as something on a far more personal level, something he really had no wish to contend with at this point in their mission. Neither Jedi had time for illness of any sort, not with a missing Council member. Qui-Gon had spent much of his time the past few hours doing his best to suppress any signs of such a thing from his Padawan, and quite possibly from himself via denial. Any physical symptoms had yet to manifest.

_Until now._

Transferring the heavy robes to drape his arm, he raised a hesitant hand, dropped it, and raised it again, the slow, hitching waver of his breath an unreliable precursor of just when the moment might come when he would be forced to use it. 

The tickle abated and Qui-Gon sighed with a mixture of relief and frustration. If his body was so set on betraying him, it might as well just be done with it.

The hum of a lightsaber followed by rather fluent cursing distracted him from his own troubles for a moment. Had something been lurking in the cave after all?

"Aah! _There!_ " Obi-Wan's now jubilant voice rang out from somewhere behind him. 

Qui-Gon turned to glance behind him at his apprentice, who was doing his best to nurture a weak, but sustainable flame amongst the pile of twigs. 

"Well, now." Qui-Gon ceased squeezing water from the nearest robe for the moment. "How ever did you manage that?"

"Purely by accident," Obi-Wan admitted. "I meant to use my lightsaber to sever the largest branch, but apparently, the sparks it produced ignited it instead."

Qui-Gon started to tell the younger Jedi that it wasn't necessarily an accident, that perhaps it had been his intuition (which Obi-Wan rarely listened to) that had guided the action instead, but the irritation in his sinuses made a far different determination. 

The sneeze did a fine job of jerking his shoulders into a formidable shudder, although he managed to keep the impending encore at bay with a press of his hand. At least for the moment.

Obi-Wan stared and Qui-Gon resisted the urge to groan.

"Excuse me," he murmured. 

Obi-Wan blinked. "Of course," he said. "The robes will dry themselves, Master. Perhaps you should leave them as they are and join me in making sure this fire does not go out?"

"A wise idea," Qui-Gon said. 

After spreading the damp material over the rock closest to the fire, he crouched beside his Padawan, who had already managed to stoke the flames into something more formidable. 

"The rest of our clothing is unlikely to dry in this state." Obi-Wan plucked at his damp tunic with one hand. "Although I do not care for the idea of being half-clothed in this type of environment."

Qui-Gon nodded. "True, but I suspect most creatures that could pose any sort of threat have retreated much in the same manner as we have." He managed a discreet rub of his nose as Obi-Wan turned his attention to the fire. "The heat will do us little good if we remain in this state."

His Padawan clearly had no wish to argue, as the younger man had already set about the task of prying off his boots and setting them aside. Qui-Gon followed suit, smirking as a stream of water poured from inside the leather.

"Hmm," he mused. "Perhaps I was a bit more damp than I imagined." 

Stripping away the layers of his tunic was almost a relief, the cold suction of the fabric making an almost comical sound as he peeled it from his skin and wrung the water from it with a splash. The pants were not quite so damp, possibly thanks to the tunic and the boots. These, he left as they were and returned to stand before the fire. His apprentice, however, had other ideas. The younger Jedi had stripped himself bare, save his undergarments. 

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. "I do hope we needn't make a hasty exit for your sake."

Obi-Wan waved a hand. "There is plenty of mud for camouflage."

The older Jedi chuckled, which disintegrated into a slight bit of coughing. Hopefully, the crackling pop of the now impressive fire had masked it. It wasn't so much that he felt the need to hide the growing evidence of just how far the cold had seeped into his bones. Instead, it was more of an odd sort of concern for the reaction of his apprentice. While Qui-Gon was content to let things come as they may, his Padawan was not. The young man worried over far too much, over things he simply couldn't control. Qui-Gon could only hope that a combination of training and time would lessen the reflex. 

And he had no desire to aggravate Obi-Wan's tendency, if he could help it. Which was becoming quite a bit more difficult than he was willing to admit. The burden of his soaked clothing had been removed, but the chill it had left behind was another matter. Centering his thoughts on other things, he stared into the flicker of the nearest flame as Obi-Wan paced the length of their current shelter.

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon cracked an eye he hadn't meant to close. "Your restlessness is most acute. What troubles you?"

The younger Jedi paused, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Ah, nothing. Nothing, Master."

"You are a poor liar," Qui-Gon said.

"Am I?" Obi-Wan's gaze wandered to steady downpour just beyond the edge of the moss-covered rocks. "Do you think . . .do you think he's alright?"

"Master Windu?" Qui-Gon stroked the edge of his chin where the hair had begun to silver with a thoughtful massage of fingers. "What do your senses tell you?"

"My senses tell me very little as of late," Obi-Wan confessed. "It's as if I have created a block within my own energy."

"Hmn, perhaps you have." Qui-Gon pulled a snarl from his length of hair, which had begun to dry into a rather unappealing mess of tangles. "But if you have done so, then you must undo it."

"And how do I do that?"

The look on his Padawan's face was so eager, so ripe with expectation that Qui-Gon could only smile. "You must change your perspective," he said.

Obi-Wan eyed him as if he were the most exasperating being in the entire expanse of the universe. " _Really,_ Master?"

Qui-Gon's nod was solemn. "Really."

"By the Force," Obi-Wan grumbled.

Qui-Gon chuckled, a low rasp of sound that was a bit too grating for his liking. Whatever had set about the task of possessing his health was doing a steady job of things, magnifying the chill upon his skin and compounding the irritation in his sinuses, the latter of which he had no wish to contend with. His body, of course, seemed quite content to betray him, as if lecturing Obi-Wan had lent him a bit of cosmic karma in return.

There was little warning, hardly enough time to even consider stopping the sneeze. The best he could manage was a half-covered flinch into the crook of one elbow that did nothing to dampen the sound.  
Obi-Wan's insistence on wearing a groove in the earth came to an abrupt halt. 

"Excuse me," Qui-Gon said. The slight crack in the admission was as appalling as it was unexpected. And clearly, this time his Padawan hadn't missed it.

"Master . . . " Obi-Wan crouched beside him.

Qui-Gon said nothing, pinching the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger in an effort to divert the pressure there.

"It is nothing," he said.

"Nothing?" Obi-Wan repeated. The young Jedi shook his head, braid dangling over one shoulder. "And yet, you claim that _I_ am a poor liar." 

Qui-Gon ran a hand through his still-damp hair with a sigh. "Is that so?" 

The smile Obi-Wan offered him was a knowing one. "I fear that you are quite obvious." 

"Obvious." Qui-Gon shook his head. "That does not bode well, does it."

"No," his Padawan agreed. He walked over to the nearest rock, placing a hand upon the cloak Qui-Gon had spread there to dry and frowned upon discovering that it was as damp as it appeared. "This will not do."

"There is little to be done for it." Qui-Gon coughed into a cupped hand. "Or for me. Do not concern yourself with it, my apprentice. I have simply been exposed to the elements for too long. I shall feel much better once I am bit drier." 

If the other Jedi planned to argue the matter, he concealed it well. Instead, he sat beside Qui-Gon on the makeshift pallet of leaves and tree needles, the slow-drying spikes of his hair forming an amusing array of peaks and valleys. A wry smile quirked the side of Qui-Gon's mouth. He, too, remembered having such a style. The long locks that now graced his shoulders were much more preferable. 

"I suspect this planet has not seen the suns in a thousand years," Obi-Wan groused. "I wonder what life forms find such conditions favorable?"

Clearly not humans. Certainly not Qui-Gon himself. Even without the rain soaking his skin, the cold refused to release its grip on his body. Until now, he had managed a fine job of appearing as if he were immune to it, but the effort to repress the shivering instinct was becoming more taxing by the second.

And there was the coughing. The fact that the sound seemed to ring off of every viable surface in their shelter did nothing to help matters, either.

"Pardon," Qui-Gon said, his voice a hoarse scrape of its former depth for a moment before he cleared his throat.

The gaze of his apprentice was assessing, if not sharp. "I shall add more wood to the fire," he said. "Perhaps it will warm you."

Rather than argue, Qui-Gon heaved a sigh. "Thank you, Padawan."

Obi-Wan nodded, leaving him to gather bits of kindling from various areas of their drafty shelter. The fact that his apprentice was walking around nearly naked in such conditions was impressive, if not a bit amusing. Perhaps the young one had a better grasp of the ways of the Force than he realized.

"Obi-Wan."

The other Jedi paused in feeding the fire a few new twigs to glance up from his crouch. "Yes, Master?"

"Are you not cold?" 

Obi-Wan snapped a few more piece of wood, as if he were pondering the question while Qui-Gon tilted his head, waiting. 

"I suppose that I am not." His Padawan sounded surprised, as if he hadn't even considered the matter. 

Qui-Gon folded his hands. "How did you manage such a thing?" 

"I am not certain, Master." The younger man shrugged. "I simply decided not to be cold and I am not." 

Qui-Gon smiled. "That's very good, you realize." 

"Perhaps a bit foolish," Obi-Wan said. "But if I wished for my clothing to dry, I had to remove it."

His Padawan might have missed the point of the question, but the result was the same. Obi-Wan was learning. The apprentice that had once been so uncertain and even unresponsive in some ways was now well on his way to understanding more than his peers. That was a warmth far greater than any fire could offer.

Obi-Wan tossed the last of drier twigs to the flames and came to his side once more. For some time, the two of them sat beside the fire without the necessity of speech, each comfortable with the other's silence. Or relative silence, in Qui-Gon's case. The pressure in his head had transitioned into the new irritation of sniffling, the tickle having migrated to his throat to add to the discomfort of it all.

And, while Obi-Wan was obviously doing a fine job of controlling his body's physical responses to the cold, Qui-Gon was not. This was, perhaps, the most frustrating aspect to the entire indecency. As a Jedi Master, Qui-Gon's abilities far exceeded those of his apprentice, one of which was the ability to self-heal. However, this ability didn't lend itself as well to illness so much as injury. The sensory deprivation his increasing symptoms caused was unwelcome nuisance, especially in unfamiliar and possibly hostile territory. 

The heavy drape of fabric came to rest upon his shoulders and he glanced up from deferring another sneeze with a bleary gaze.

"It is mostly dry," Obi-Wan said. 

Qui-Gon blinked. "This is your robe."

"It is," Obi-Wan said. "But you are ill, Master."

"Obi-Wan . . . " Qui-Gon began, but the younger Jedi help up a hand to silence him.

"Take the robe," he said.

Qui-Gon chuckled. "Are you attempting to impose your will upon me?"

"No," Obi-Wan said. "I am simply telling you what to do. And you _will_ listen to me, Master." 

"Well, then." Qui-Gon pulled the fabric around his shoulders a bit tighter. "I see my own defiance has found its way to you."

His Padawan nodded, the sternness of his expression giving way to a bit of a smile. "You are a fine teacher in that regard." 

Even with the hint of moisture still lingering in the fabric, it was a welcome addition to his chilled skin. From the looks of things, the rest of their clothing would not be dry for some time. Obi-Wan had, however, managed to reclaim his pants, much to Qui-Gon's amusement. His apprentice might be mindful enough to raise his threshold for the cold weather, but it was not an indefinite skill. The chill would eventually win.

Darkness was upon them and without the knowledge of what manners of creatures lurked within the rain-sodden woods, it was vital that the flame remained burning. And that Qui-Gon find a way to quiet the urge to cough. Or sneeze. The latter was the worse of the two as far as sound, although at this point, there was little the Jedi Master could do to stop it. 

Not to mention, the Obi-Wan's stare had grown even more fraught with concern than before. His apprentice had not yet learned to control some of his emotions, the majority of which were still naked on his face at any given moment. 

"Obi-Wan, you must stop looking at me as if might collapse at any moment," Qui-Gon said.

"Perhaps I would not look at you in such a manner if you did not appear as if you were about to do just that," his apprentice countered.

The elder Jedi would have argued that he was, in fact, not nearly in such abhorrent shape had his damnable body not seen fit to make any point he could deliver moot with another bout of coughing.

A hand upon his knee brought his focus back to the present and he shifted a tired gaze to Obi-Wan.

"Master . . ." The younger man's voice was so fraught with concern that Qui-Gon softened just a touch. "What can I do to aid you?"

"Nothing." Qui-Gon patted the hand that rested upon his leg. "It shall have to run its course." 

His apprentice did not look at all convinced. In fact, Qui-Gon could sense that the assurance had amplified his worriment on a considerable scale. While the inconvenience of illness had dampened some of his senses, his intuition was not one of them.

"Could I at least persuade you to rest, Master?" 

Qui-Gon shifted his gaze back to his Padawan. "It isn't as if I am engaging in strenuous activity, Obi-Wan." 

Sitting before the fire, clutching his apprentice's robe about his shoulders was little more than existing, as far as Qui-Gon was concerned.

"I meant that perhaps you could sleep for a while," Obi-Wan clarified. "I am happy to tend to the fire and keep watch."

Qui-Gon did not mention the fact that sitting upright was becoming a considerable effort. Twice, he had leaned against the nearest boulder and managed to catch himself before dozing off. If Obi-Wan was so intent on doing something about his condition, perhaps appeasing the younger Jedi for a while could not hurt.

"Alright," Qui-Gon agreed. "But just for a short while. You will wake me after a reasonable amount of time has passed."

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan said.

While there was no deception in his Padawan's agreement, Qui-Gon felt that perhaps he should have qualified just what a "reasonable amount of time" might be. It was far too late to amend the order, however. Although his current sleeping arrangement was less than ideal, Qui-Gon was suddenly far too exhausted to care. Despite his Padawan's smaller stature, his robe was sizeable and more than large enough to act as a makeshift blanket for the older Jedi, who wrapped the folds of it around as much of his bare skin as he could manage. The smarter option might have been to actually slip it over his shoulders, but the thought had little time to cross his mind before sleep overtook his body. 

_________________________


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With his concern for Qui-Gon's health mounting, Obi-Wan learns a valuable lesson in paying attention to his surroundings and is left with an unexpected bit of consolation from his Master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's a total sap? It's meeee.

It came as no surprise that Qui-Gon had succumbed to sleep with such ease. His Master might have done his best to downplay the severity of his condition, but Obi-Wan could sense it. The elder Jedi was most unwell and growing worse. He could not continue in this condition, especially not in the frigid, unrelenting rain.

Glancing over his shoulder, Obi-Wan made certain his Master still slept before stealing away to the far side of the cave where the echo of both rain and voice was minimal. Hopefully, the weather hadn't damaged his comlink device.

He gave the small piece of metal a quick shake, relieved when it seemed to be not only intact, but functional as well.

"This is Obi-Wan Kenobi. Can you hear me?" Obi-Wan did his best to speak clearly, but in a soft fashion. 

"Renzin here, Obi-Wan."

The young Jedi sighed with visible relief. "We've not come upon any civilization as of yet and there is no sign of Master Windu, but we have a different problem." Obi-Wan glanced over his shoulder yet again. "Master Qui-Gon is quite ill."

_"Ill?"_ Renzin's voice crackled over the speaker with a static punch of sound and Obi-Wan nearly fumbled the comlink into the nearest mud puddle.

_"Keep your voice down,"_ he hissed. "I need you run a trace on our location and tell me how far I might be from the nearest village, if you can get a read."

"Hold on." 

After several tense moments, Renzin's voice returned. "You're not far, Obi-Wan. Approximately 4 kilometers northeast of your location is one of the smaller towns. The locals are friendly to the Republic. You should be able to find aid for Master Jinn there, if you can manage the walk."

"I shall manage," Obi-Wan said. "Thank you."

"And Obi-Wan . . . mind your tracks. There are things as large as this ship lurking in those woods."

Obi-Wan grunted. "Do not remind me."

Switching off the comlink, he pocketed the device, turning back towards the fire.

And froze.

Crouched opposite the fire was hulking beast of animal, a mix of scales and fur and far too many teeth and judging by the gleams of many trios of eyes, it had friends. Many of them.

His gaze fell to his belt some five feet away where the lightsaber was still clipped to the side and cursed beneath his breath. There had been good reason his Master hadn't stripped himself bare. For all of his talk of "being mindful of the future" in subtle retaliation of Qui-Gon's insistence on living in the moment, he hadn't done a very convincing job of following his own boastful words.

Dropping into a lower stance, he took small, sliding steps towards the weapon, eyes fixed on the beast, which had begun an undulating growl deep in its throat. Saliva pooled in the corner of its mouth, dripping to the earth with a sizzling plop, lips peeling back from incisors twice the length of his forefinger. 

"Venomous," he murmured. "Of course you are."

The creature snarled, the hair at its ruff puffing into an array of spikes as it pawed the ground with a rough scrape of claws. The trio of eyes that lined its brow shifted, each blinking at random moments before refocusing. 

On his Master.

"Easy, now," Obi-Wan said.

The thing advanced a step, unfazed by the fire or by Obi-Wan's words. Some Jedi could communicate with the more domestic animals, but to do so came at the expense of other important abilities. Regardless, his senses told him that this was no docile creature. Negotiations would have proved useless.

His fingers brushed the clip of his belt and he manipulated it into relinquishing his weapon, eyes tracking the beast's every intent. The fact that Qui-Gon was still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the danger was not a good sign. If his Master's health were compromised to the point of suppressing his ability to sense danger, things were far more urgent than he had once thought.

The blade of his saber hummed into existence with a flare of blue and the creature crouched low, muscles coiled.

"Do not make me put an end to you," Obi-Wan threatened. 

Powerful hind legs thrust the beast high into the air, vaulting it past the fire and straight for his still-sleeping Master. But the young Jedi was faster. While he still lacked the training and mastery for many things, speed was not one of them. The acrid sizzle of seared flesh and fur tainted the air as Obi-Wan's prowess with his weapon came to the forefront, leaving a heap of smoldering death in its wake.

"Master!" Obi-Wan called over his shoulder. "Are you--"

The young Padawan dropped to the ground just in time for a blade of blazing green to arc past his head, decapitating a second beast and maiming a third.

"Behind you!" Qui-Gon said, his voice a sharp bark of sound amongst a plethora of raging snarls.

Obi-Wan sprang to his feet, plunging the saber deep into the chest of yet another creature, the deafening shriek of the thing amplified by the cavern's stone walls. Panting, he came to attention, lightsaber at the ready, but the carnage near the rocks spoke volumes about his reflexes. Some seven beasts lay slain amongst the sandy mix of leaves and dirt, each in various states of amputation, all lifeless. Atop the nearest rock stood his Master, saber in hand, looking for all the world as if he were merely surveying the terrain instead of fending off the attack of a pack of venomous creatures. 

The apprentice leaned against a boulder, struggling to calm his breathing into some semblance of normalcy. How had Qui-Gon managed such a thing? He hadn't so much as seen his Master move, much less slay three times the beasts as he had managed. 

"They are retreating," Qui-Gon said. "We are not the easy meal they had anticipated." 

Obi-Wan powered down his lightsaber and glanced at the carnage with a sigh. While the saber effectively cauterized most blows, some bloodshed always occurred. Perhaps these beasts weren't considered edible by their fellow carnivores, but he had no way of knowing for sure. The only sensible solution was to dispose of the bodies by dragging them some distance from their makeshift camp and hoping that whatever might be interested in eating the two Jedi was more intrigued by the prospect of an easy meal of carrion instead. 

"If you could tend to the fire for a while, I will rid us of these." Obi-Wan gestured to the carcasses with a swipe of his hand.

"Alone?" Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. "I will help you."

Obi-Wan held up a hand. "No, Master. Please. Venturing into the rain again so soon would not be wise." He conveniently left off the "in your condition" he had intended to add to the phrase. Gentle and calm his Master might be, but no Jedi like the implication of weakness.

For a moment, it looked as if Qui-Gon were set to argue the point, but another one of those wrenching, desperate sneezes Obi-Wan had heard far too often seized him, effectively invalidating any argument he might have had.

"Alright," Qui-Gon agreed, clearing his throat a bit. "But put your boots on. I cannot have you stepping into a patch of poisonous thorns with your bare feet again."

Obi-Wan flinched a bit at the memory. Well, he had been quite young and certainly not attuned to danger. It wasn't so much the pain of the thorns that had bothered him. No, that had been the fact that their secretions turned one's skin a rather embarrassing shade of bright purple. Still, it was one Padawan mistake Qui-Gon never seemed to forget, be it due to the lesson or the amusement. Qui-Gon's smirk hinted at the latter.

"Of course, Master," he said. 

The boots were not nearly dry and squeezing his foot into the damp leather was as difficult as it was unpleasant, but he managed. He took a moment to don a pair of leather gloves as well, something he always carried in one of the pouches of his belt. Touching possibly venomous animals was not something he wished to do bare-handed.

And neither was venturing back into the rain. Ignoring his reluctance, he set about the task of dragging bodies into the underbrush and tossing them into the swift waters of the river, a far better plan than piling them anywhere near the cave. After a good half of an hour and a thorough soaking, he trudged back into the cave to find all remaining traces of carnage neatly swept to the outskirts of the rocks. His Master sat before the fire, feeding it handfuls of twigs and the occasional branch, Obi-Wan's now damp robe draping his arm. Perhaps it has slipped from his shoulders and into the nearest puddle during their brief battle. Even when he had been wearing it, the robe wasn't nearly long enough. Qui-Gon was taller, his shoulders broader than those of his Padawan. He suspected the sleeves of the robe, while voluminous to a degree, would be tight and uncomfortable in places. Even caught in the throes of what looked to be a potentially virulent illness, Qui-Gon was a stoic, if not elegant man. 

Which made Obi-Wan all the more aware of his sometimes clumsy attempts at any given technique. 

"They are gone, Master," he said. "I do not sense any stragglers."

Qui-Gon nodded. "Nor do I." He eyed Obi-Wan with a tilt of his head. "You are once again very wet and I am afraid that your robe is no longer of any use."

"I am," Obi-Wan agreed. "But the rest of our clothing is probably not quite dry enough to do me any manner of good."

But Qui-Gon was already assessing this for himself, one hand upon the robe still spread upon the rock. He peeled the fabric from the stone, giving it a few shakes for good measure.

"It is growing far colder than I expected," Qui-Gon said. "We shall have to improvise." He beckoned to Obi-Wan with one hand and the younger Jedi found himself complying with the gesture before he could think otherwise.

"Here," he draped a heavy fold of fabric over Obi-Wan's shoulder. 

"Master, I am fine as I am," Obi-Wan insisted. 

Qui-Gon eyed him in that way that only an elder Jedi could manage, effectively reducing his protests to youngling status. "You are shivering."

_Was he?_

"And," Qui-Gon continued. "If the temperatures continue to fall in this way, we are both at risk. You must know this."

Of course, his Master was correct. A Jedi might have better control over his physical state than the average being, but they were not immune to all things, as evidenced by Qui-Gon's current state. As if on cue, the other Jedi's breath hitched into a quivering stammer and he ducked into the crook of his elbow with a flinch. Considering the timing of the sneeze, Obi-Wan could have almost sworn his Master had somehow managed to do it on purpose. 

"My apologies," Qui-Gon said. "I realize that this puts you at risk for enduring sudden bouts of that at close range."

Obi-Wan chuckled. "Your sneezing is of little concern to me, Master." 

The slightest sway of his Master's posture set his senses on edge. Perhaps Qui-Gon had made slaying many beasts seem effortless, but it had cost him much. 

"Sit with me, then," Obi-Wan said. "I must take off these boots before I am unable to feel my toes any longer."

To his relief, Qui-Gon didn't argue or question him. Instead, he followed Obi-Wan's lead, seating himself beside the younger Jedi on one of the larger logs near the fire's edge. The edge of his arm brushed Qui-Gon's bare skin in an effort to pry the boot from his foot and his Master flinched.

"Your skin is quite cold," Qui-Gon noted as he re-draped a portion of the robe over Obi-Wan's shoulders. 

"Sorry, Master," Obi-Wan said.

By contrast, Qui-Gon's skin was burning hot to the touch, his pallor a pale shade of its usual hue. Yet, the man appeared to be as cold as Obi-Wan himself. A roughened hand grazed his upper arm with a vigorous, gentle sort of rub, the friction doing precious little to actually warm his skin, but he appreciated the gesture just the same.

"You shall have to come closer," Qui-Gon said at last. "A few moments of discomfort can be endured." 

Obi-Wan nodded, shifting so that their shoulders now touched. To his credit, his Master neither flinched nor gasped, choosing instead to rest an arm across Obi-Wan's shoulders with a gentle pull towards his upper body.

"I apologize for the invasion of your personal space," Qui-Gon said. "But it is an unfortunate necessity in a climate such as this." 

The younger Jedi resisted the urge to sigh, not out of frustration, but rather because the "unfortunate necessity" was an odd sort of comfort, especially when Qui-Gon managed to pull the robe closed around the two of them. The other man was a source of familiarity and while attachment was frowned upon in the Jedi Order, Obi-Wan permitted himself the indulgence just the same. 

"I do not mind," Obi-Wan said.

The smile Qui-Gon favored him with was a tired, half-hearted rendition of the expression. "Thank you."

The Padawan tilted his head. "Whatever for?"

"For putting up with me in such an unbecoming condition," Qui-Gon said. 

"Nonsense." Obi-Wan brushed aside a tangle of his Master's hair that had seen fit to plaster itself to his cheek. "You cannot help it." 

The other Jedi caught the tips of his fingers for a moment. "You are a good apprentice, Obi-Wan. Perhaps too good for me."

"Hush, Master," Obi-Wan said. "The fever has surely reached your brain. I do not wish to be forced to destroy you because of it."

"Hmn," Qui-Gon murmured, as if he had said something not only clever, but revealing. 

The elder Jedi settled himself against the nearest rock as comfortably as he could manage, Obi-Wan still curled into side. The fevered warmth of his Master's skin was worrisome, but welcome and Obi-Wan did his best to make certain that the robe still covered as much of their bodies as possible. 

A hand brushed his shoulder in an idle sort of rub, easing down his spine and back up again. Despite his Master's roughened hands, his touch was soothing, if not gentle. 

"Have you enough warmth?" Qui-Gon's voice was gravely rumble near his ear.

"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan murmured.

"I realize that this is not an ideal position for sleep, but we should attempt it just the same."

On the contrary. Wrapped within the cloak of the one who had trained him was most conducive to sleep. The heavy weight of Qui-Gon's arm across his slighter shoulders was like a mantle of protection. For the first time in ages, Obi-Wan forgot his need to perfect his every word and mannerism in the presence of his Master and accepted the moment just as it was.

(TBC.............)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey to civilization begins with a dubious assurance from Qui-Gon while his apprentice wonders just how much his Master might be hiding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the late update! I had issues with the damn file. I will post Chapter 4 later today to make up for it! Thank you for the kudos and comments! Writers live for that shit, ya know. ;)

The fog within his mind was a dense one. Feverish dreams and fragments of foresight had combined into something unreadable. Now, as his consciousness resurfaced, the bland pallor a grey dawn greeted him. Qui-Gon grimaced just a touch. Still upon the ground. Still in the cave.

And apparently, still wrapped in a woolen bundle with his apprentice. The evenness of Obi-Wan's breathing suggested sleep, his curled posture almost child-like. While his Padawan was still quite young, the suspended animation of sleep lent him and even softer appearance. The barest hint of a snore escaped him and Qui-Gon chuckled.

"Obi-Wan." He rubbed the younger man's shoulder with one hand. 

"Not the Trials," Obi-Wan mumbled into his chest. "Not ready."

Was his apprentice dreaming? Well, that was a very particular brand of nightmare torture, now wasn't it.

"Obi-Wan," Qui-Gon murmured. _"Spidermoth."_

His Padawan's eyes sprang open as if he were a droid with an overly sensitive activation switch.

"By the Force, _where?!_ " The younger Jedi bolted upright, patting down his arms with such frantic haste that Qui-Gon barely managed to keep himself from a very uncharacteristic burst of guffawing.

After several moments of fervent searching, Obi-Wan's expression collapsed into deadpan severity. "That was _most_ unkind, Master." 

"It was," Qui-Gon agreed, one side of his mouth curving into a smirk. 

His Padawan ran a hand through the disheveled spikes of his hair, looking for all the world like a disgruntled child. And then, Qui-Gon did laugh.

"Either you are feeling better or you have grown delirious," his Padawan grumbled.

But the younger man's hint of a smile betrayed his displeasure. Qui-Gon tousled the rogue spikes of his hair with one hand, which his apprentice endured without complaint. Obi-Wan endured much from him in this way.

"We had best be on the move," Qui-Gon said. "I do believe the rain has actually relented."

While no visible sunlight shone through the canopy of trees, hints of the overcast sky were a welcome reprieve. Given the planet's unpredictable weather systems, there was no telling just how long such a thing would last.

"Yes, Master." Obi-Wan slid the robe from his shoulders and dutifully retrieved the rest of their attire, which had now dried out upon the rocks. 

Although the tunic smelled of a mixture of mildew and smoke, Qui-Gon was grateful to have it cloaking his body once more and from the looks of things, his apprentice shared in the relief.

"There is a town just beyond the edge of this forest," Obi-Wan continued. "Perhaps we can obtain information and supplies there."

If the elder Jedi were inclined to agree, his position on the matter was obscured by a rather wracking cough which left him more than a little breathless, although he did his best to pretend otherwise.

"That . . . does not sound good," Obi-Wan noted with a tilt of his head.

"It will pass," Qui-Gon said.

His apprentice looked less than convinced.

Leaning against nearest rock, Qui-Gon pulled on his boots with considerable effort, relieved that the leather was dry for the most part. As much as it galled him to admit it, Obi-Wan had been right. Instead of getting better, his condition had worsened over the course of a few hours. Considerably. While Qui-Gon was adept at concealing his true emotional state from just about anyone, the physical saw fit to betray him at every turn. 

Like now, for example.

The tickle in his throat seemed to resonate with the one in his sinuses and he raised the draping sleeve of his tunic to shield Obi-Wan from the unfortunate view of his struggle.

The wrenching pair of sneezes drew the attention of his Padawan once more, despite his efforts. If Qui-Gon was the master of hiding his true feelings, Obi-Wan was just the opposite. His apprentice's concern was naked on his face, as evidenced by the deep crease of worriment between his eyebrows. Before he could dismiss himself, Obi-Wan was on his feet, already at Qui-Gon's side.

"I am alright," Qui-Gon lied.

" _No,_ Master. You are not." Obi-Wan grasped his upper arm, counterbalancing what would have been a stagger.

Against his better judgment, Qui-Gon allowed it. 

The Jedi Master sighed. "I can see that there is no fooling you this time. Perhaps I have trained you all too well."

"Perhaps." Obi-Wan waited until Qui-Gon's balance resolved before releasing his arm. "I can make the journey myself if you are unable."

Qui-Gon shook his head. "No. It is unwise for us to separate. I shall manage."

_Somehow._

"Then I will aid you," Obi-Wan said. "Please, Master. Allow me this much."

The stoicism of Qui-Gon's demeanor softened on almost imperceptible level. The back of one hand brushed his Padawan's cheek and he noted the way the younger man's eyes drifted shut for the briefest instant, almost as if he were unaware of the gesture. 

"Alright," Qui-Gon said softly. 

The hand dropped to his side and Obi-Wan glanced up at him, as if he were searching for a hint of defiance, making certain that the consent was genuine. By now, the young apprentice should have known that Qui-Gon placated no one. If there was something to be said, he was quite often the first to say it and the last to keep quiet about it.

He stood back, allowing Obi-Wan to dispose of the evidence of their make-shift camp, leaving the appearance as untouched as he could manage. While Qui-Gon had no suspicions of others following them, it was always best to leave things as one found them, especially when searching for a missing colleague.

After some time, the younger Jedi returned, his expression grim.

"What is it?" Qui-Gon asked.

"I just spoke to Renzin to confirm our location in proximity to civilization." He met Qui-Gon's questioning stare with a slow raise of his head. "It is nearly half a day's walk, Master."

If Qui-Gon felt any manner of shock, it did not register in his expression. The face he presented to Obi-Wan was neutral, if not calm.

"Well, then," he said. "We had best be on our way." The dubious worriment his Padawan so often displayed came to the forefront as Obi-Wan looked to one side, unable to meet his gaze any longer. "Obi-Wan."

The younger man swallowed, flicking uneasy eyes to his own. "Yes, Master?"

"While I cannot deny that I am not myself, I am not so ill that I am unable to function. I _am_ able to walk, young one."

Obi-Wan nodded. "Of course, Master." 

But clearly, his Padawan believed not a word of his assurance, possibly because Qui-Gon himself was not certain of his physical prowess. Nevertheless, he would manage. Illness, while uncommon, was not new to him. Fighting through it was even less of a concern. He had endured worse. However, such battles had always been fought alone and his own well-being did not concern him so much as that of the younger man now staring at him with such doubt in his eyes.

"You must stop this, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was gentle, but not without the firmness of a command. "I shall be alright." 

His apprentice performed a chastened study of his boots. "Yes, Master." 

(TBC....)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan worries over Qui-Gon's worsening condition and his own sudden display of similar symptoms.

It was nearly an hour into their journey before thin cracks in his Master's resolve began to show. Thus far, Qui-Gon had managed to keep pace with Obi-Wan, moving as if he were able and well, just as he had always done. Or so it had been until the terrain began to give way to a more uneven structure. Now, rounding the bottom of the newest hill, his Master's dutiful stride was flagging, sweat beading his brow despite the coldness of the atmosphere. 

"Master, our supply of water is beginning to run low," Obi-Wan said. "Perhaps we should stop for a while to replenish it."

There was some truth to Obi-Wan's strategic stall tactics. Due to the amount of rain the planet endured, fresh water was in abundant supply. It lurked within the caverns and hollows of the wedge-shaped leaves big enough to dwarf a man's stature, but reaching it could prove to be a bit of an effort and Obi-Wan was more than certain that his Master was not at all up to climbing the stalks of the plants.

"A wise idea," Qui-Gon said. "One never knows when the terrain might shift."

Obi-Wan would have been pleased with his Master's approval had it not been sourced from an outright lie. The man was tired, his breathing of a labored degree. And his coughing was becoming far more frequent than Obi-Wan would like.

"Sit," Obi-Wan said. "The plants can bear my weight a bit easier than yours, I suspect."

If Qui-Gon had it within him to argue, he did not. Instead, he leaned against the nearest tree with as much casual ease as he could manage.

"I am a bit ungrounded," he confessed at last. "Perhaps I will meditate for a moment while you tend to the water."

The Padawan knew all too well what his Master meant by "meditate." One of Qui-Gon's more unique abilities involved putting himself into a trance-like state where he could then replenish his focus and stamina. Although his Master was quite easily one of the finest swordsman in the Jedi Order, age had begun to slow his reflexes and his fighting stamina had begun to decline. A short rest was often all he needed to regain full focus, although Obi-Wan suspected such an ability had its limits when concerned with sickness. Still, he did not question his Master's needs. As long as the man would simply sit down for a moment, Obi-Wan would ask no questions.

"I shall return then, Master," he said.

Qui-Gon disappeared into the nearest cluster of foliage and Obi-Wan turned his attention back to the task at hand. Hopefully, the other Jedi would call to him, should he need help making his way back through the underbrush. Then again, this was Qui-Gon.

Retrieving the water proved easy enough and he managed to do so without getting too damp in the process. Around the overgrowth and greenery lurked curious creatures of all varieties, many scampering away into the safety of the tangled vine work at the approach of human footsteps. While the myriad of small creatures was often a good sign that the larger predators did not frequent the area, "small" did not equate to "benign." Without knowledge of the planet's life forms, Obi-Wan had no true way of knowing the true dangers of its inhabitants. 

But there was a far more personal concern to tend to at the moment. Since the younger Jedi had awakened, his senses had become slowly dampened by the dull throb of a lingering headache, coupled with an almost ticklish prickle that seemed to travel the length of his throat. The slight physical exertion of retrieving water had invited an unwelcome rush of cold air deep within the confines of his body, triggering an outburst of rough coughing.

_Oh, no. Surely not._

Obi-Wan rubbed at the corner of one eye, dabbing away a clinging bit of moisture there and hoping to every bit of Force in existence that Qui-Gon hadn't heard him. The last thing he needed was for his Master to question his ability to lead them to the nearest settlement. Not in his condition. And Qui-Gon's health was rapidly deteriorating, regardless of if he wished to admit it or not. 

 

The younger Jedi straightened, hoping that the fairness of skin did not betray any visible irritation as he resisted the urge to give his entire face a thorough, vigorous rubbing. Instead, he managed a deep breath, rising slowly to his feet and making his way back to where Qui-Gon had disappeared into the underbrush. 

His Master was already waiting for him, one shoulder pressed to the trunk of the nearest tree in such a casual manner that Obi-Wan almost believed the implied nature of the stance for a moment.

Almost.

"Here, Master." He handed the other man his replenished supply of water strap first. "This should last us some time."

Qui-Gon's finger wrapped around the soft leather, but didn't quite take it from his Padawan's grasp. "It was kind of you to do this for me." The slight tilt of his head was almost studious, his gaze assessing. "Shall we continue onward?"

To his credit, Obi-Wan neither flinched nor fidgeted beneath the weight of that stare. "Yes, Master."

The elder Jedi waited until his apprentice initiated the lead, following at a close interval as Obi-Wan purposefully slowed his pace. While Qui-Gon certainly looked a bit better after their short rest, the lagging precision of his gait was evident. His Master was exceptionally light on his feet, skirting obstacles and underbrush with an ease that belied his age. Now, the footfalls that followed him were heavy, each step a precarious placement. 

Not to mention, the coughing. Qui-Gon could do little to hide it now. It hadn't quite progressed into the type of cough indicative of chest congestion, but it was well on its way. Obi-Wan tossed aside a wayward stick with more vehemence than necessary. Just how far was this alleged town, anyway? By now, they had walked at least five kilometers, if not more. 

The shift of fabric against his skin was an uncomfortable counterpart to his walk, his skin both sweaty and frigid at once. Trekking through jungle mass was difficult on its own, but doing so with the swift onset of illness was a foolhardy time bomb. Each step was a precarious endeavor with far too much effort expended.

 

From the sound of things, his Master was not fairing any better. Twice, Obi-Wan had outright stopped, waiting for his Master to regain his bearings as he pretended to survey the terrain for their next foray into the foliage. He had seen enough green, growing things to last him a life time. At least the abundance of Living Force was good for his Master. Qui-Gon drew strength from such things, and while Obi-Wan didn't quite understand the logistics of it all, he didn't question the other Jedi's methods. This was where Master Yoda and Qui-Gon often butted heads with Qui-Gon's tendency to live in the present sometimes considered unorthodox, if not irritating. 

"Obi-Wan."

The rasp of his Master's voice brought him up short and he nearly tripped over a network of roots.

"Yes, Master?"

"I . . ." Qui-Gon propped an arm upon the nearest tree and leaned heavily on it. "I need to . . . stop. For a bit." 

The Padawan didn't need foresight to see that his Master was near to the point of collapse. If anything, Qui-Gon's stubborn nature would be death of him faster than any illness ever would be. 

Obi-Wan was at his side before the other Jedi lost his footing, one arm secure around his torso as he helped to ease Qui-Gon into a sitting position near the base of the tree.

"Easy, Master," he said, gentling his tone as he knelt beside the other man. 

Qui-Gon pushed the hood of his robe aside with trembling fingers and Obi-Wan swallowed a slight sound of shock. His Master had been pale before, but his pallor now verged on ghostly, sweat dampening the line of his hair and trickling to soak his collar. 

"Master . . ." Obi-Wan's voice was a scant whisper. "Why did you not ask me to stop earlier?"

"I suppose I thought myself able to endure it." Qui-Gon coughed into the crook of his elbow, a harsh, scraping sound. "But I shall be alright if I can just rest for a moment."

Obi-Wan stiffened just a touch. Deception was not his Master's forte, that much was certain. His body betrayed his words with an outright defiance.

"Obi-Wan." A hand brushed his cheek. "Do not worry for me, my Padawan. I have survived far worse."

The younger Jedi cradled the roughened fingers to his face with his slighter hand, forcing a rough swallow. "But . . . I am worried for you, Master."

It took him a moment to realize that not only had Qui-Gon failed to respond to his admission, but the hand beneath his own had gone limp. Either his Master had slipped into slumber or had fallen unconscious. Neither boded well. Not at all.

(TBC . . . .)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's a giant hurt/comfort whore? It's MEEEEE!!!! I am SO SORRY it took me so long to update! I got caught up with "Fever" and honestly forgot. However, this fic is actually complete (and has been for a while). I just need to finish editing it. So, I hope you enjoyed this bit! Next bit coming soon.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan's limits are tested as he receives help from an unlikely source.

Slipping his robe from his shoulders, he draped the heavy fabric over Qui-Gon's chest for additional warmth and proceeded to feign bemused indifference over the entire incident. Which of course, was about as credible as Qui-Gon's admission of "being fine."

Not to mention, his own physical issues were beginning to compound. There was no coughing to speak of, no shortness of breath or sweat-drenching fever, but the dull throb in his head and the slight, yet uncomfortable ache deep within his skin were warnings of impending trouble. 

His head dropped, another sigh escaping him. Just how far was this town? It seemed to him as if they had been traveling for ages. Perhaps he should contact Renzin to--

A tingle of a different nature prickled his skin to attention and his hand went to his weapon a second too late. The thing pinned him flat to the ground with a flailing of teeth and claws, the soggy earth a cold, unyielding pallet of muck and moisture against his back. Teeth snapped scant inches from his throat as Obi-Wan dug his fingers into the thick, furred hide, shoving with every ounce of strength he could muster. One foot managed to slide beneath the beast's belly and he kicked with enough force to send it sprawling, intending to spring to his feet, but unable to find purchase on the moisture-slick ground.

A trio of yellow eyes blazed fury and Obi-Wan fumbled for his lightsaber, calling forth the blade as the beast lunged--

And stopped short.

Paws dangled uselessly in mid-air, swiping at the nothingness with all the rage of a child throwing a tantrum. 

Obi-Wan blinked and glanced over his shoulder just enough to keep his gaze on his adversary. Amongst the decaying dampness of the forest floor, Qui-Gon knelt, one hand steadying his body, the other outstretched. Sweat trickled from his temples as he held the beast suspended, his breathing a labored rasp.

"Master . . ." 

Obi-Wan held the unclipped weapon in his hand without realizing he had managed to draw it. The blade flared to life with a hum of energy, backlighting the dismal grey gloom with brilliant blue.

"No," Qui-Gon panted. "Do not . . . harm it, my apprentice."

"But Master!" The Padawan pointed as a child would, unable to properly express himself through words alone.

"You and I." Qui-Gon swallowed before drawing a shaky breath. "We are responsible. . . . for her suffering."

_Her_ suffering? Obi-Wan trained his gaze back upon the creature, which had now ceased its fervor and dangled mid-air like a useless thing, hairless tail limp, fangs receded. 

"I cannot hold her." Qui-Gon's hand trembled, fingers beginning to curl back into themselves. "Her rage is . . . great. You. Must reason . . . with her."

_"Me?"_ Obi-Wan turned a finger to himself with an aghast sort of gesture. "Master, I cannot communicate with animals. You know this! It is a Master trait, not that of a Padawan."

One side of the elder Jedi's mouth curved into a smile. "Then she will call the others and they shall kill us both."

The fever had reached a critical level within his Master. That much was certain. Obi-Wan silenced the hum of his weapon as the creature drifted towards the ground. Perhaps his Master thought him capable of such a feat, but if "conversation" failed, a lightsaber would not. Negotiations would be woefully short.

"Speak . . with your mind. " Qui-Gon's voice was clenched hoarseness wrapped in metal grating. "Do it now."

Whatever trance Qui-Gon had used to sedate the beast was wearing thin, the spikes beneath her matted fur rising to sharp peaks along her ruff. As her demeanor shifted, his heart rate rose in tandem until the pounding in his ears seemed to drown out all else.

Behind him, Qui-Gon's strangled breathing blended into exhaustion as the Jedi collapsed amongst the leaves and debris. Unconscious. And hopefully, still able to breathe.

"Speak with my mind," Obi-Wan muttered. "Right. Yes." Turning his focus to the slow-rumbling threat of the creature's growl, he cleared his throat. Started to speak. Clamped his mouth shut again.

He took a step back and then another, crouching low to the ground near his Master's side, eyes upon the growling she-beast that had neither advanced nor retreated. 

And Qui-Gon was still. So very still. The younger Jedi's breath caught as he knelt beside the stricken man, one hand brushing the tangled hair that had grown streaked with grey. Not so long ago, it had been a richer shade. Had it truly been nearly 7 years? 

Sudden movement seemed to agitate the creature, so rather than gather his Master into his arms, he simply pillowed a leg beneath his head, brushing aside bits of clinging debris as he checked the progression of the fever with a touch of his hand. Scalding, yet clammy. Anxiety gnawed at him as he struggled to quiet his thoughts, pulling trembling fingers through the dense thickness of his Master's hair.

So stubborn. And paying so very dearly for it. No, this jungle would not have him. Not today. Not in this way.

The rattling growl abated to an idle sort of rumble and Obi-Wan chanced a glance at the beast who now sat with its hairless tail coiled about taloned feet. Watching him.

"So," he said aloud. "You have decided not to eat me, have you?"

The animal emitted an odd sort of chirping click, punctuated with a throaty snarl which indicated to Obi-Wan that perhaps, she had not yet changed her mind. Those spikes were still at attention, the lips still peeled back from fangs as long as his palm.

"Or perhaps not," he said, a cynical edge sharpening the words. "We did slaughter quite a few of your kindred, but to be fair, they were attempting to end our lives."

An image of younglings sprang unbidden into his mind, tiny scaled bundles with tufts of spotted fur sprouting from odd places. Small, forked tongues exploring the textured rocks and debris along the river's edge. Curious and not at all dangerous.

At least not yet. 

_Until . . ._

_A flash of light. Bloodshed. And many bodies._

Obi-Wan blinked. "Oh," he said. "Oh . . oh dear." 

The she-beast lowered her head, the slow blink of each eye mirroring his own gesture in an almost human-like fashion.

"Humans," he began, "are a nuisance, are they not? Pathetic life forms, indeed."

The beast grunted. He raised his stare to that of the creature before him, the slitted yellow eyes suddenly far less foreign than he had once imagined. True remorse for the death of her young struck him as he bent his head, further cradling Qui-Gon's upper body against his own.

_Please, he thought. _I cannot lose him.__

The she-creature had begun to retreat into the foliage, pausing to glance over her shoulder as if waiting for something. Did she mean for him to follow her? Obi-Wan had grown to trust his intuition more as time went on, but this? Well, this was something entirely new. 

The beast chirped at him, clicking her jaws together and tossing her head as if he were a very dense thing, indeed. 

"Alright," he said. "Give me just a moment." His hand brushed Qui-Gon's cheek and the other Jedi stirred with a bit of a moan. "Master, can you stand?" 

Qui-Gon's stare was unfocused and bleary, one trembling finger tracing a path down Obi-Wan's jaw. "Leave me," he murmured. "I will . . . be alright until . . . you return." 

"No, Master," Obi-Wan clasped his hand. "I will carry you, if I must." 

"Padawan . . ." 

_"No_. . . Master." 

Obi-Wan slipped an arm around his Master's torso, draping the man's arm over his shoulders and began the grueling feat of rising with the other man's weight draping his body. Despite Qui-Gon's weakened condition, his feet found purchase on the forest floor, but the struggle stay upright was a battle he would surely lose at some point. 

Walking was another story entirely. The uneven ground was strewn with roots and debris, but Obi-Wan put his trust in his ability to navigate hostile terrain despite his mounting anxiety. It was how he had learned to pilot a spacecraft and how he would manage this as well. 

Satisfied with his progress, the beast disappeared into a thatch of slender stalks that boasted tiny purple flowers, a stark contrast to the sheer amount of greenery around them. Only a few feet into the field of waving grasses, Qui-Gon's reserves faltered, but the Padawan had foreseen the flagging of his Master's strength and was more than prepared. He hefted the weight of the other man into his arms with a grunt, staggered from the shift of balance but for a moment, and trudged onward. 

_I will drag him, if I must. On hands and knees, should it come to this._

Ahead, the she-beast's movements were trackable by shifting splits of grass until the tall stalks gave way to a flatter terrain that crested a plateau in the earth and Obi-Wan nearly sank to his knees. 

A settlement. Small and somewhat crude in structure, but to the struggling Jedi, it was an oasis. His vision blurred as his stance weakened, the sight of tear-hazed forms rushing towards him more precious than any training had ever been. 

"By the Force . . . Obi-Wan!" 

_The voice. Familiar yet muffled somehow, a hollow buzz in his ears._

"Master . . . " The Padawan tried to force the familiar bane of the voice's owner through the sudden blockade in his throat, but instead, all he could do was nod. 

"We need some help over here!" the owner of the voice shouted. "Now!" 

The weight of his Master's body was unburdened from his arms and Obi-Wan collapsed to hands and knees, his breathing a shallow, strangled pant. A strong hand clasped his upper arm, pulling him back to his feet almost against his will. 

"Obi-Wan. Come with me, Padawan. No . . .no, it's alright. Come." 

He allowed himself to be led . . . carried? Perhaps dragged? . . . . some distance away before being guided to sit 

"A fever," the voice was saying to someone else. "Bad from the looks of it." 

He reached a trembling hand towards the other man's tunic, fisting a handful of the material with a surprising surge of strength. 

"Qui-Gon," he said. "Is he . . .?" 

"They are taking care of him." The fuzzy edges of the owner's face came into abrupt focus. "You must let us do the same for you." 

Obi-Wan sagged against the back of the chair that supported his weight as several pairs of hands began to pry away his boots, peeling his damp clothing from his body and replacing it with a furred heap of blankets and skins. Something warm pressed against his lips and he cracked an eye. 

"Drink this." 

He obeyed, sipping with a grimace. 

"Our apologies, Master Jedi," another voice said from his left. "The remedy is bitter." 

That was quite the understatement. Still, he managed to force the vile liquid down without choking. 

"Come, Master Jedi. You must lie down." 

He started to tell the owner of the new voice that he was no master, that his was the title of a mere apprentice who had nearly forfeited the life of the true master due to lack of intuition and understanding, but his tongue had grown thick and heavy, his vision a dizzying whirl of imagery. 

A hand rested atop his forehead, the touch a warm comfort amongst a whirlwind of fear. 

_"Sleep now. . ."_

His consciousness slipped away before the last word was uttered. 

_(TBC . . . )_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> RIGHT. I am going to FINISH uploading this thing this week. Stay tuned!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon has a disturbing vision while Obi-Wan's attempts at Jedi-like composure falter.

_The sharp sizzle of cloth and flesh, burning and cauterizing at once. Sweat dripped from his brow, a cold realization of the moment made real. His grasp slipped._

_He was . . . he was . . ._

"Master Qui-Gon."

The Jedi Master cracked an eye, darkness receding into the faint tracings of early dawn. Or was that impending nightfall? His sense of time had failed him.

"Ah, there you are." The familiar edges of a dark-skinned face granted his vision permission to clear and refocus.

" . . . Win . . ." Qui-Gon's lips formed the man's name, but his body denied him completion of the action.

A hand rested atop his forehead. "Do not speak. Rest."

There was little choice in the matter. His turned his head with a sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before reopening to fixate on the chair at his bedside. Or rather, who was in the chair.

Mace nodded. "He's been there all evening. The healers tried to convince him otherwise." The look he gave Qui-Gon was not entirely neutral. "The young one is very attached to you, Master Qui-Gon."

If Mace's words registered with the elder Jedi, his expression revealed none of it. Attachment was a forbidden luxury amongst the Order, frowned upon and often discouraged. And Qui-Gon had suffered more than once at its hands. 

"He . . . saved me," Qui-Gon murmured.

The sentiment was more of a dawning realization than and admission. Very little recognition of the past few hours remained with him. It was as if the fever had burned holes in the fabric of the memory. 

"That he did," Mace agreed. "The Council will be pleased to hear of his progress. But we can discuss this further when you have regained your strength."

Just where Mace Windu had been for the past five days was also something they needed to discuss. The other Jedi did not appear to be in any sort of distress. _Then why . . ._

The door slid shut behind his comrade before he could so much as consider formulating the question. It was of little concern at the moment. The other man was obviously very much alive and well, although Qui-Gon was a bit less on the well side of things. While his fever had dropped from an all out fire that savaged his body to something a bit more reasonable, it had not yet broken. That and the nagging cough which was, perhaps, the most irritating symptom. 

Despite his effort to muffle the sound, it was enough to arouse the sleeping Padawan in the chair beside him. Even his conversation with Mace had not done so. Strange how it was the discomfort of his illness that provoked a response. Or maybe not. Master and Padawan were attuned to each other in a way that no other pair of beings could manage. Or at least, that was how it should have been. Such had not always been the case with Qui-Gon's former apprentices, but this one? Obi-Wan was---

"Master?"

The younger Jedi was practically falling over the arm of the chair as he craned his neck towards the bed for a better look.

Qui-Gon would have chuckled had the action not threatened to morph into more coughing. Instead, he beckoned to Obi-Wan with a curl of fingers and his apprentice willingly untangled himself from the mess of blankets draped over more of the chair than himself.

The fact that it took some effort for his Padawan to rise and sit upon the mattress beside him was a telling, if not painful reminder of what had transpired. Despite his body's protests, Qui-Gon managed to prop himself up with one arm as Obi-Wan sat beside him.

"Master, lie down," Obi-Wan said. "You needn't rise on my account." 

"You . . . should be resting," Qui-Gon said.

"I have been." His apprentice nodded towards the chair.

Qui-Gon's lips twitched into a faint rendition of a smile. "That is not what I meant."

Still, the task of so much as leaning on his arm proved far too taxing for anything more useful than a sigh and he succumbed to the whim of settling back against the blankets. And while Obi-Wan certainly looked far better than Qui-Gon himself, the appearance was a facade of a different kind. Such was the nature of his Padawan, masking the serious implications of a situation with a bit of humor, but Qui-Gon knew better. Even whilst using his own Force talents to coerce his body into fighting the infection within it, the raw sense of unease within his apprentice was like a beacon. Qui-Gon had spent decades learning the art of keeping his emotional stability at an even keel, so much so that even Master Yoda had difficulty ascertaining his true emotional state, should he will it as such. But Obi-Wan was young, a man in physical age, but still harboring the emotional whims of someone that had not quite come into his own. It was an awkward stage, where the heart had not yet caught up with the rational mind and the two often jostled for supremacy. Qui-Gon remembered it. All too well at times.

He slipped a hand from beneath the sheets and clasped the tips of the younger man's fingers, the pad of his thumb brushing the curve of the joints there. Obi-Wan blinked, flicked his gaze to Qui-Gon's hand and back towards the center of the room where a crudely drawn image of a flowering plant hung. 

"Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon's voice was a soft ring of darkness in the dimly lit room. 

His Padawan said nothing for a moment, the barest hint of an expression far too bitter to be considered smile curving his mouth.

"Can you believe, Master, that this planet actually bears witness to sunlight at times? Shortly after our arrival, a shaft of it broke through the clouds and sent itself streaming through my window. But, the air has not warmed. It is still very cold. Very . . ."

The younger man's voice trailed into a shadow of a whisper and he splayed a hand over his face, posture crumbling with a choked jerk of his shoulders.

The gentle touch of Qui-Gon's fingers became a gripping squeeze as the memories of the past few hours rushed upon him in a barrage of jumbled images and sounds, pictures that were still somehow blurred at the edges but cut more keenly than any blade ever could. He channeled his remaining energy into sitting up, struggling against the weakness of his unwilling body.

"Forgive me, Master." The hand dropped and Obi-Wan kept his stare upon the lopsided picture. "I am . . . just . . . very tired." The crack in the young man's voice was more than Qui-Gon could bear. 

"Obi-Wan," he said. "Look at me."

His apprentice shook his head, jaw and shoulders clenched in equal measure, but Qui-Gon would have none of it. He slipped an arm around the tightness of those shoulders and felt them tremble beneath the weight of it, as if he would somehow shatter.

"Padawan," he murmured. 

The younger Jedi all but collapsed against him, his resolve faltering into such an upheaval of convulsive grief that Qui-Gon feared his own body would be unable to withstand the onslaught without collapsing himself. 

"I-I thought you were . . . " Obi-Wan's words faded into a choked sound and Qui-Gon gripped a handful of his tunic, pulling him closer.

"I am alive because of you," he said.

The younger Jedi laid his head against Qui-Gon's shoulder and sobbed, as if his heart were somehow rending itself to pieces. It was a bracing torrent of release that caught even the seasoned Master by surprise. It was the blinding panic of fears that had gone unspoken, the bitter tang of shame, and the relief that none of it had come to pass. Not this time.

The strength in Qui-Gon's embrace intensified ten-fold without the use of the physical. Brief as Obi-Wan's outpouring was, it spoke of what felt very much like an eternity of sorrow. 

"Here, my Padawan. Lie with me," Qui-Gon offered, for the ability to sit upright any longer was a daunting task on its own. The weight of another was now too much to bear.

"I should . . . let you rest," Obi-Wan mumbled into his borrowed tunic.

"Stay," Qui-Gon said. 

Protests silenced, his apprentice obliged him, out of necessity or command, Qui-Gon did not know. But with the younger Jedi curled against his body, his own began to relax, the first tendrils of healing Force easing its way through the aggression of the fever and cooling his skin to the touch. 

His Padawan's body responded in kind, the tension in his muscles resolving to relaxation, the mantle of grief and stress slowly falling away. And the mental static began to quiet. Just a touch.

A hand brushed Qui-Gon's cheek and he caught and held the palm of it to his jaw, turning into the touch for the briefest instant.

"Qui-Gon. . . "

The sound of his name brought his gaze to that of his Padawan. The devotion there was a complex welling of emotion, a combination of unspoken fears, respect that bordered on reverence, and . . .  
He placed the tips of his fingers against the young Jedi's lips and brushed his own across the tops of the knuckles of the hand he still held.

"Sleep now," he said.

The softness of Obi-Wan's lips against his fingers answered the gesture before Qui-Gon's hand slipped away.

_____________

TBC . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you I was going to keep posting it! ;) This was my favorite chapter to write.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon recovers while Obi-Wan's condition still lingers.

He awoke not to frigid wind and chill, but to warmth. Comfort. Security. Obi-Wan sighed, tucking himself further into the protective embrace of the other Jedi who was still very much shrouded in sleep. For the second time in as many days, he permitted himself the indulgence of enjoying the closeness, the familiarity of it. For many years, the Padawan had struggled to simply form a bond with his Master that didn't merit guessing what Qui-Gon may or may not be feeling at any given moment. And Qui-Gon made such things exceedingly difficult at times, although through no fault of his own, Obi-Wan suspected. The man had endured much sadness and tragedy, events he rarely spoke of and emotions he never displayed. 

Obi-Wan on the other hand . . .

A slight cringe curled his body as he recalled the events of the past few hours. Most unbecoming to a Jedi. Such a loss of emotional control was frowned upon and heavily discouraged, but he had been so uncertain. So worried. So . . .afraid.

Beside him, Qui-Gon stirred lightly, shifting his body so that his embrace tightened for a brief instant, as if in response to Obi-Wan's unspoken thoughts. The younger Jedi sighed and willed his body to relax back into the state of much-needed sleep, but a far different problem was preventing it. Having been so attuned to Qui-Gon's illness had cost him, as he had taken little time to consider the state of his own health. 

He coughed against the back of his hand, willing his body to be still, but to no avail.

"Sorry, Master," he murmured, clearing his throat.

The illness that still lingered within him had roughened his tone to something darker, a coarser version of his usual speech. Obi-Wan himself suspected his voice must sound much the same, if not a bit worse. Qui-Gon was adept at drawing the Living Force into his being and coercing his body to manifest healing, but Obi-Wan was not nearly as competent in those skills. Not yet, at least. 

Qui-Gon had managed to prop himself up on one arm, and while he said nothing, the slight curve of his mouth spoke volumes.

Obi-Wan splayed a hand over his face with a groan.

"You take yourself far too seriously at times, Padawan," Qui-Gon said.

The younger Jedi eyed him through a crack in his fingers. " _Really,_ Master?"

Qui-Gon sat up with relative ease and laid a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder. "Yes," he said, giving it a squeeze. "Really."

Before Obi-Wan could further elaborate on all the reasons why Qui-Gon was thoroughly and completely mistaken, his Master swung his legs over the opposite side of the bed and rose to his feet, a surprising gesture to say the least. Only hours ago, the other Jedi had collapsed in a heap of fever. Just how he managed to so much as sit up was beyond Obi-Wan, but then again, this was Qui-Gon and even after seven years, his Master still had the ability to surprise him.

The elder Jedi made his way to the window, his footsteps slow but certain, the blanket from the bed still cloaking his shoulders. Against his better judgment, Obi-Wan followed, his own gait far less steady and sure, but he managed. Better to test the extent of his endurance now than find out later that he could not so much as stand.

"I very much like this room," Qui-Gon mused as Obi-Wan came to stand beside him.

It was easy to see why. Various plants and greenery lined the walls in everything from vases to what looked to be old helmets, each one a thriving organism content within its dwelling. Outside of the window, the tangle of greenery fought a battle for supremacy amongst its brethren, twisting and coiling towards the tops of towering trees and draping every viable surface. 

Qui-Gon drew strength from such things. Already, the pallor of his Master's skin was far more robust, which was not something Obi-Wan could say for himself. A glance at his hands told him that much.

"Perhaps they will allow you to take a few back to our ship for your collection," Obi-Wan said.

A slight tease edged his tone. Qui-Gon's "collection" of plant life included more than a few species of carnivorous and sometimes curiously tactile vegetation. More than once, the vine of a somehow inquisitive plant had coiled itself around Obi-Wan's arm whilst he read or slept, much like a curious child. Or perhaps, a pesky one. He had spent quite a lot of time convincing the things via Force-induced methods that he valued his personal space. 

"Perhaps," Qui-Gon said. He held out an arm, blanket clasped between his fingers and Obi-Wan came obediently to his side.

Leaning against his Master in such a fashion was almost instinctual, although he often thought himself too old for it. Obi-Wan was no longer a child and Qui-Gon was certainly not his protector. Despite his status as Padawan, he was still a Jedi, as capable as any other trained at the Temple from such a young age. A Jedi shouldn't rely on his Master for comfort or reassurance, much of which Qui-Gon had given almost too sparingly during their earlier years. It had taken some time for the bond between Master and apprentice to solidify, although now, it was arguably far stronger than any could have anticipated. 

The blanket draped around his slighter shoulders as Qui-Gon's arm rested there, drawing him closer, as if sensing his somewhat unsteady stance. Obi-Wan all but ordered his body to right itself at once, but what his mind willed and what he truly desired were at constant odds, especially as of late. Instead of polite refusal, he found himself engulfed in the shroud of the blanket, the strength of Qui-Gon's embrace a reluctant pleasure. 

A hand brushed the side of his cheek, lingering near his temple for a moment. "Your fever is rising." Qui-Gon's voice, while neutral in tone was a softer version of his usual keen observance. 

Obi-Wan didn't even realize the elder Jedi had turned to face him until the edge of his forehead met with Qui-Gon's collarbone. The other man was quite a bit taller.

"What?" Obi-Wan murmured.

The same hand dipped beneath his chin, tipping his gaze upward.

"Your fever," Qui-Gon said.

The roughness of his fingers was impossibly gentle as his thumb grazed the line of Obi-Wan's jaw. Was the motion accidental? Purposeful? The blue clarity of his Master's eyes betrayed no such evidence of either.

"Oh." Obi-Wan licked suddenly dry lips. "I . . . did not realize."

He also failed to realized that his hands were currently fisting a sizeable swatch of fabric on either side of Qui-Gon's tunic until the other Jedi closed the distance between them, forcing his palms to go flat.

"Perhaps you should lie down."

"Sh-should I?" Obi-Wan performed a mental reprimand to himself for tripping over his words like that. It wasn't as if Qui-Gon had never been this close to him. Then what in the world was . . .?

The press of his Master's lips against his forehead was a subtle, delicate brush and while his expectation was to stiffen into some absurd rendition of a plank, his body managed quite the opposite. If he hadn't noticed the fever before, he certainly noticed it now as his every limb weakened with a sudden sort of limpness.

"Yes," Qui-Gon said. "You should."

Strong hands gripped his shoulders and he shook his head, as if awakening from a daze. "I suppose I am a bit . . ."

_A bit what, exactly?_

" . . . tired," he finished.

"You have been through much," Qui-Gon agreed. "Come." 

With a combination of fever and other nagging confusions muddling his thoughts, he merely nodded, allowing his Master to lead him back to the mattress where he sat upon the edge of it for a moment, as if he had forgotten the sequence of movements needed to lie down. The gentle press of Qui-Gon's hand upon his shoulder reminded him and leaned back until his head met with the pillow.

"Just hours ago you were too ill to stand," Obi-Wan murmured as his Master tucked the sheets around his body. "How is that you are somehow in a better state than I am?"

A hand rested atop his own and the familiar half-curve of Qui-Gon's rendition of a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "I have studied the ways of the Force for many years," he said. The half-smile broadened just a touch. "Or perhaps I am just old."

"Not old," Obi-Wan said. "Wise."

Fingers worked their way into the grooves between his own just a touch. "It is the same." 

Obi-Wan's hand curled enough to draw the fingers into a tighter grasp. "Are you leaving . . . " 

_Me?_

"No," said Qui-Gon. 

Another hand smoothed the spiked catastrophe that was his hair away from his brow and Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered shut. The fingers that so often ruffled his locks ran a blissful glide along his scalp. A soft groan escaped him, head tilting to one side as the hand roved.

"Master . . . "he murmured.

"I am here, Padawan." 

(TBC..........)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Qui-Gon muses over Mace's words and his own feelings on the matter.

Qui-Gon examined the greenery in the nearest makeshift pot, one finger tapping the nearest fiddlehead with a soft touch.

"Not very happy in that container, are you?" he murmured.

The roll of green unfurled, wrapping tender fibers around his finger and he smiled to himself. This was the Living Force in action. Qui-Gon's uncanny ability with nearly all plant life would have served him well, had he been chosen for the Agro Corps rather than solicited to be another's Padawan. While he had no regrets for past or present, the thought of a simpler life was, at times, a bit charming.

Several of the plants had blossomed over night, even more having sprouted new leaves and delicate stalks of green. Here, the Force pulsed with such gentle, thriving energy that Qui-Gon's healing had been an easy achievement, although not nearly complete enough for travel. His lingering cough served to remind him of that, as well as the fatigue that had begun a slow creep into his bones. 

A glance at his apprentice revealed that the boy was still sleeping, quite soundly from the looks of it.

_The boy._ Qui-Gon shook his head. Obi-Wan had grown into much more than that. While others saw the overly practical and sometimes far too analytical way of Obi-Wan's thinking to be a tiresome nuisance, Qui-Gon found it a well-appointed match to his own sometimes impulsive nature. His penchant for careless compassion had landed him on the far side of the Council's favor more than once, yet it had been his apprentice who had often explained the reasoning for Qui-Gon's behavior in such a way that the Council had at least conceded begrudging agreement. His Padawan would make a fine negotiator some day.

The plant that had curled around his finger was now working its way up his hand and Qui-Gon pushed back with a gentle reminder via the Force that he was not an inanimate object. The coil of green retracted much like a serpent, curling around its brethren and settling there with faintest rustle of leaves. When he was a bit more mobile, he would speak with one of the villagers about procuring a better living space for it.

For now, he needed rest. 

The practical thing to do would have been to ease himself into the chair beside the bed and have a bit of a nap there, but Qui-Gon was feeling neither practical nor much like sleeping in an upright position. Instead, he climbed into the bed beside Obi-Wan, still giving the other Jedi as much space as possible so as not to disturb him.

His efforts were, of course, for naught. The Master/apprentice bond was a thing of wonder, but also a thing of inconvenience at times when it came to sleeping in the same room. Or the same bed. The moment his hand so much as touched the mattress, Obi-Wan's eyes had fluttered open.

"I did not mean to wake you," Qui-Gon said.

"No." Obi-Wan shifted a bit beneath the blankets. "I have slept for quite some time, haven't I?"

"Yes, but you needed it." Qui-Gon laid on his back, gaze drifting towards the ceiling. Sketches of plant life covered the domed roof, some intricate and some barely recognizable. He tilted his head enough to flick his stare to Obi-Wan. "How are you feeling?"

"Truthfully?" He splayed a hand over his face for a moment. "Quite dreadful, Master." 

The elder Jedi chuckled. "Have you not tried to heal yourself?"

"I have tried." Obi-Wan rolled onto his side to face Qui-Gon. "But I fear I am exceedingly bad at it for some reason." 

"Not bad," Qui-Gon corrected gently. "Perhaps just misinformed. Here, I will show you." 

He sat up, gesturing for Obi-Wan to do the same. "The Force is present in all things . . . a pulse, a ripple, or perhaps even a subtle whisper . . . and it is at its strongest within one's own self. It is from this point that one must draw power. The universal energy will guide you, but the Force within you and the Force within all things must resonate for this harmony to occur. You are not separate from it. It is as connected to you as you are to it. Do you understand?"

Obi-Wan's slow nod was indicative of his still somewhat muddled thoughts and Qui-Gon shifted his approach.

"Healing is a delicate line between asking for guidance and using what guidance is given to convince one's body that it would be in the best interests of the energetic balance to right itself." Catching Obi-Wan's ever deepening puzzlement, he laid a hand upon the Padawan's knee. "You must convince your body that what you ask of it is what it truly needs."

"I do try, Master," Obi-Wan said. "But I fear that I am not the best negotiator when it comes to the whims of my--" His voice wavered into a hitching tremble and he turned from Qui-Gon, fitting a hand beneath his nose with a flinch to stifle a wayward sneeze. He wiped at one eye with a sniffle. "There. Do you see what I mean?"

Qui-Gon smirked. "You do realize if you did not insist on containing it in such a way that it would be far less worse for you."

"One would think," Obi-Wan grunted. "But it matters not what I do. I seem to keep at it regardless." 

As if to demonstrate, he gave Qui-Gon an involuntary encore, complete with a soft cough trailing the end of it and the typical accompanying look of something between frustration and embarrassment.

Qui-Gon patted his knee. "Your concern for my thoughts on the matter is unnecessary."

"My concern?" Obi-Wan blinked a little.

"Yes," Qui-Gon said. He tapped the side of his own head with one finger in a knowing gesture and Obi-Wan sighed a bit dramatically.

"This is most unfair, Master," he said. "You have no trouble reading my emotions and yet, I am never privy to yours."

"Mmm." Qui-Gon tipped his head to one side in a considering fashion. "I do not mean for it to be as such." The corner of his mouth curved a bit as Obi-Wan made a grand gesture of turning himself away to muffle a slight cough. 

"Master, stop laughing," his apprentice said without so much as glancing at him.

"There, you see?" Qui-Gon's hint of a smirk bloomed into the full crooked version of his usual smile. "You were not so much as looking at me and yet, you knew my thoughts."

Obi-Wan's outright groan was enough to rend actual laughter from the other Jedi, who shook his head.

Catching the tips of Obi-Wan's fingers in his own, Qui-Gon tempered his amusement for the moment. "Forgive me, my Padawan. I do not mean to make light of your ailment." 

The younger man chuckled. "I suppose I am a bit amusing."

"A bit," Qui-Gon agreed. 

His apprentice's fingers wove through his own with a tentative squeeze which Qui-Gon returned almost automatically. Time had strengthened their bond to such a degree that such affection was more commonplace than perhaps it should be. Mace Windu's words still weighed heavily within his mind, as did the mandate of the Jedi Code. 

_The young one is very attached to you, Master Qui-Gon._

The lightness of his expression dropped to a more neutral degree. While it was said that only the Sith dealt in absolutes, Qui-Gon had often thought the Jedi hypocritical to some degree, especially in this way. Or perhaps something more clouded his judgment.

The slow drag of Obi-Wan's thumb over the side of his hand brought him back to the present and he refocused his gaze on the other man.

"What is it, my Master?" 

The stare of his apprentice betrayed his concern in such a naked, near artless way. Qui-Gon wondered if he himself had ever been as such. What must it feel like?

"Nothing," Qui-Gon said. He squeezed Obi-Wan's hands with a short press of fingers. "Here, I shall show you how to call upon the Force for a quicker recovery."

Obi-Wan nodded, saying nothing, but the blue of his eyes had gone from worriment to assessment and then to a strange sort of knowing that Qui-Gon himself had felt many times before. Perhaps his thoughts were not readily accessible to his apprentice, but his Padawan was not oblivious.

As much as Qui-Gon might have wished otherwise.

____________________________

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Closing in on the finish line of this fic, as promised!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two Jedi: One Meditation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One (maybe two) chapters left! :)

Obi-Wan was used to this . . . this tendency of Qui-Gon's which involved near-revealing of something vital only to have it once again shrouded in shadow, slipping back into unseen (and often questionable) mystery. Such was his Master's way, the careful utilization of his Temple training combined with decades of personal experience in not only controlling, but mastering emotional discretion. 

An internal sigh nagged at the Padawan, who used his own meager training to suppress the onset before it actual manifested. It was best not to pry into matters such as this, for Qui-Gon's reaction was to simply distance himself further from any sort of answer. But Qui-Gon's methods were not exact. Years of flux and strain within their relationship had also taught Obi-Wan a few things himself. Qui-Gon may have been quick to draw upon the mask of neutrality that was his primary defense, but Obi-Wan had learned to recognize the onset of this pretense, just as he had also learned to counter his own reaction with a similar one. His Master had done nothing and Obi-Wan had seen nothing in response. And such was their pattern, each accommodating the other until comfort was reached. 

And the maintenance of it grew more difficult by the day. Obi-Wan focused his attention on Qui-Gon's hands before a misstep in this delicate balance caused the entire dance to falter.

"Now," Qui-Gon was saying. "Close your eyes."

Obi-Wan obeyed. 

"The Force is ever-present. Always willing. It is, however, up to you to utilize it. You must give the energy direction . . . focus. Otherwise, it will do you no good. I am no great healer of other's pain or sickness, but I have some small skill. I will show you."

Obi-Wan waited. His frustration with "tapping" the Force had always been a point of contention, a connection he had yet to master. Even now, his mind struggled to grasp what Qui-Gon sought to impart with little success.

"Padawan."

The apprentice cracked an eyelid.

"You are trying. You must stop trying."

"But, Master," he said. "How am I to learn if I am not able to--"

"Do not try," Qui-Gon interrupted. "Do."

A smile curved Obi-Wan's lips. That sounded very much like Master Yoda's wisdom and perhaps, something Qui-Gon himself had been forced to learn the hard way. According to many, it had always been as such. Patience and discipline had not always been virtues of Qui-Gon Jinn. And somehow, this was a comforting notion to the often impatient and confused apprentice. 

Drawing a deep breath, Obi-Wan began to visualize the relaxation of each muscle in his body. He pictured the clench of his toes unfurling, felt the heaviness of his legs, the slight drooping of shoulders, the tension in his neck draining away. 

The press of his Master's fingers was a slow, gentle pressure that warmed his palms and traveled the length of his arms where it then began to settle deep within a place that was neither tangible nor exact. What began as a slow trickle of Force energy began to flow with less of a hitch. The tingle of the energy exchange began to work its way into the ache of his muscles, smoothing the discomfort into relaxation.

A sigh escaped him and his Master's hands squeezed his own in response.

"Better," Qui-Gon murmured.

"Yes . . ." Obi-Wan said.

The hands that held his own released and traveled the lengths of his forearm, thumbs pressing into the material of his borrowed tunic.

"Relax." 

A brush of warmth near his ear was a new tingle of sensation. Had Qui-Gon moved closer? Had Obi-Wan himself unconsciously leaned into the touch? Whatever the reason, he did not draw back. The uncomfortable oscillation between hot and cold caused by fever began to level, replaced by a continual, pleasant warmth that pulsed in time with his body's own natural rhythms until the two became one.

"Good." 

Qui-Gon's breath tickled his cheek and he tilted his head so that their skin brushed, the roughness of his Master's beard a stark contrast to his smooth skin.

"How do you feel?" 

The other Jedi's lips moved against his jaw as he spoke and Obi-Wan felt himself lean into the dark stillness of the words. Somewhere in the suspension of touch and energy exchange, his pulse had began a steady, resounding thrum.

"I . . ." He nuzzled Qui-Gon's cheek, felt the gesture returned. "I feel--"

The ever-so-faint brush of Qui-Gon's lips against his own sent a jolt of heat surging through his core with such force that he nearly gasped.

"Master . . ." The word was a sigh. A request. A plea.

"Padawan." 

Movement against his lips. The slightest hint of invitational pressure. And Obi-Wan gave himself over to it with every willing fiber of his being. Qui-Gon's response was gentle, if not tempering, a quiet whisper amongst the noise of his sudden mental static, distilling his senses down to the nuances of the moment. The contrast of the roughness of Qui-Gon's hand verses the soft press of his mouth. The subtle shifting of fabric upon the mattress. The earthy, clean scent of his Master's skin. The hint of sweetness upon the other man's lips.

And it was all too brief. Mere seconds transpired before Qui-Gon drew back, his fingers trailing Obi-Wan's jaw. The blue of his eyes had warmed to something unspoken for the briefest instant before regaining their former neutral state. Obi-Wan's sigh was something caught between bliss and frustration, but the touch of his Master's hand upon his own silenced the internal struggle.

A glimpse. A taste. Such was the way with Qui-Gon. The man had suffered much and his restraint was great, his trust a fragile thing not easily earned. A trust that Obi-Wan himself had broken numerous times. The wise forgave easily, but were not quick to forget and place themselves in danger of the same mistake twice. But this man had repeatedly done just that. And Obi-Wan had repeatedly failed him. Or least, his memory of it reported it in this way.

"Obi-Wan."

He flicked his gaze to that of his Master and the elder Jedi offered him a gentle smile. 

"Yes, Master?"

"The past is an unreliable measure of the present. You would do well to leave it where it belongs, my Padawan." 

Obi-Wan heaved another sigh. "I do try, Master."

The other Jedi patted his knee. "I must speak with Master Windu. You will rest while I do so?"

Obi-Wan gave a slow nod. He very much wanted to ask Qui-Gon if whatever nonsense he had to discuss with Mace Windu could possibly wait a while. An hour. A day. A year. Instead, he squeezed Qui-Gon's proffered hand, staring up at him as his Master rose to his feet.

"You will . . . come back?" He asked at last.

The hand slipped from his grasp and came to rest upon the curve of his cheek. "I will." 

Obi-Wan turned into the calloused palm, kissing the heel of his Master's hand as it drew away. He sat upon the mattress, watching the slow grace of Qui-Gon's walk, the way his bare feet made no sound upon the earthen floor and left only faint traces of his path in his wake. 

The paneled door slid open via Qui-Gon's will and eased shut with a soft click of wood, leaving Obi-Wan in the company of only his thoughts and far too many plants.

Resisting the urge to sigh yet again, he sprawled upon the mattress to gaze at the crude ceiling. There would be no sleep for him. Living in the present was much easier said than done.

 

(TBC............)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A realization and a confession bring clarity to both Master and Apprentice.

"I must apologize for my lack of communication," Mace Windu was saying as Qui-Gon fell into step beside him. "The abundance of plant life here is like no other. I suspect my intentions were somehow disrupted through the sheer amount of life Force on this planet."

Qui-Gon tilted his head at the hypothesis, but said nothing. Mace Windu's study of the Living Force was not nearly as keen as it should have been, although the same could be said for Qui-Gon's lack of Unifying Force adherence. In theory, the two realities lead to the same destination. It was the path chosen by the follower that differed.

"This planet is unfamiliar and unexplored," Qui-Gon said. "The fact that we heard nothing from you for nearly a week did not bode well."

Mace nodded. "I've no problem admitting my error."

The hooding of his gaze caused Qui-Gon's eyebrow to arch in response. "If you have something that you wish to say to me, Master Windu, perhaps you should do so."

The other Jedi's eyes narrowed just a touch. "I trust your recovery is going well?"

"It is." 

"The Mecurians are holding a meeting of their council in two days time," Mace said. "I feel we should attend. There have been rumors of war from neighboring tribes and the threat of fires."

Qui-Gon nodded. "If it is permissible for us to be at such a meeting, I would agree."

"I have spoken to the elders and it is permissible," Mace said. "Of course, it will depend on your health. The fever is contagious and they cannot have their warriors exposed. "

"Of course," said Qui-Gon. "Perhaps I should return to my quarters, then."

The look Mace Windu tossed his way was a cool variant of his typical hard fire and Qui-Gon returned it with neutrality. If Master Windu wished to berate him for whatever inefficiency he saw in Qui-Gon this time, he would have to wait. Containing the exposure of his ailment was far more important.

"We shall speak later." Mace's words were not a request.

Qui-Gon tipped his head with a slight nod. "As you like."

The other Jedi narrowed his eyes, but said nothing, standing aside so that Qui-Gon could return to his quarters unheeded. Still, Mace's stare was like targeting brand upon his back, a sensation that Qui-Gon was sure to ignore as he padded back down the earthen hallway. 

He slid the wooden door aside and stepped into the room where Obi-Wan was waiting. His apprentice was exactly as he had left him, sprawled upon the mattress whilst regarding the ceiling as if he were attempting to decipher some hidden meaning from the drawings there. At Qui-Gon's approach, he rolled onto his side, braid dangling over his shoulder. While Obi-Wan said nothing, there was no mistaking the tension in his energy.

"Did Master Windu explain himself to you?" his apprentice asked.

A half-smile quirked Qui-Gon's mouth. "Mace Windu explains himself to no one." He took a seat upon the edge of the mattress and began to dust off his bare feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," Obi-Wan said truthfully. "And you, Master?"

"Progressing." Qui-Gon said. 

"Mace wishes for us to meet with the tribal elders," Qui-Gon continued. "When our health has improved, we will attend a meeting. We are, however, under quarantine until such time, I fear."

"Quarantine?" Obi-Wan repeated. "Are we really so contagious?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "So it would seem." 

Obi-Wan feigned interest in something near the door, effectively averting his stare. "I dare say you could use the rest a bit more that I could, Master."

"Is that so?" Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow. 

Obi-Wan flicked a knowing gaze his way. "You have heard yourself?"

"I have," Qui-Gon said. The smile morphed into a smirk. "And I have also heard you." 

His apprentice said nothing, his expression a commendable mask of neutrality worthy of Qui-Gon himself. But years of living in close quarters with the other man had lent Qui-Gon a thorough understanding of both his mannerisms and his emotional state.

"Hmmn." Qui-Gon leaned closer, his lips scant increments from the braid that hung just behind Obi-Wan's ear. "Be mindful of your thoughts, Obi-Wan." He brushed the backs of his fingers along the smoothness of the other Jedi's cheek before pressing his lips to his Padawan's mouth for the briefest instant. "They betray you."

A lilting sigh escaped the younger man as he leaned into Qui-Gon's touch, as if he had simply given up on the stoic indifference he had tried to very hard to present. The brush of Qui-Gon's hand had revealed a returning fever, which made the Jedi Master frown a bit. 

"It worries me that you are still quite feverish," Qui-Gon said, voice gentling as he laid a hand upon Obi-Wan's forehead. 

"Am I?" His apprentice caught his wrist, holding his hand in place for a moment before allowing it to slip away. "I feel as though I am chilled." 

The faint tremor of his hand indicated as much and Qui-Gon draped his shoulders with the nearest blanket before pulling him closer. What Obi-Wan desperately needed was a warm bath and a hot meal. Neither Jedi had eaten for the past day or so due to a combination of illness and lack of food sources. 

"I shall see about getting something for you to eat." Qui-Gon rubbed a hand across the back of his Padawan's shoulders.

"Not just yet, Master." Obi-Wan curled against him. "I have very little appetite."

What Obi-Wan said and what he meant were two very different things. Perhaps his apprentice did not feel the need to eat, but the truth of the matter was quite obvious. The younger man was recovering from something other than illness. Their time in the jungle had taken a toll on him in ways that he might not fully understand and while every Jedi was trained to be calm and alert under pressure, the stress it caused was not always easy to corral. 

And then, there was the other aspect . . .

The bond between Master and apprentice was a sacred thing. Bound together by the Force, the two often moved as one. Thought as one. Felt as one. And the Code essentially forbid a very crucial aspect of this. 

For some time now, Qui-Gon had debated his feelings on the matter. Even logic would dictate that in order for compassion and understanding to occur on the level a Jedi truly needed, the experience of attachment was necessary. It was the formation of this very emotion that allowed such a bond to form in the first place.

Not to mention, Qui-Gon had done his share of denial in all things between them. Obi-Wan had, of course, contributed to some of it, but it had taken some time for him to realize that many of the issues which hindered them were his own. Trust had been difficult. While the elder Jedi was more than capable of giving his trust and loyalty to others without question, once such things had been violated, they took ages to restore. Obi-Wan had spent quite a bit of time suffering for a misstep in his youth that had nearly broken their bond. Until Qui-Gon had realized that much of the error rested upon his shoulders. 

As a youth, his Padawan had been anxious and impatient, impulsive and often competitive, none of which were conducive to any Jedi. But these tendencies had eased as he aged, discipline and practicality taking their place. The clumsy and sometimes hasty youngling had grown into skilled, decisive man.

The often spiky edges of Obi-Wan's hair tickled his chin as his apprentice rested his head against his chest with a sigh and Qui-Gon smiled to himself. Grown and resilient his Padawan may be, but he was still very young in some respects. 

"I have slept the entire afternoon and yet, I am still tired," his apprentice mumbled into the notched collar of his tunic.

"You are not yet well," Qui-Gon said. "It is to be expected."

Obi-Wan nuzzled the hollow at the base of his throat. "I feel as I should be doing something more productive than sleeping."

"Nonsense," Qui-Gon said. "Sleep facilitates the healing process." 

He pulled back enough to glance down at his apprentice, who tilted his gaze upwards in return. And there it was. The concern. The questioning. The slightest hint of expectation that he wasn't quite quick enough to mask.

Qui-Gon traced a path down the line of his jaw with one battle-roughened finger, the softness of his apprentice's skin at odds with the texture of his own.

"You are so dear to me," he murmured.

The blue-green clarity of Obi-Wan's eyes blurred. "Master . . ." 

Qui-Gon bent his head as Obi-Wan mirrored the gesture with an arch of his body, craning his neck to receive the emphatic press of Qui-Gon's lips against his own. One hand splayed across Obi-Wan's back, drawing him closer as his Padawan fisted a handful of his tunic in response. The surge of Force energy that bloomed between them was enough to draw a gasp from even Qui-Gon himself. Upon the shelves behind them, make-shift pots clinked and rattled. 

Despite the unexpected agitation of their surroundings, the disconnect was gentle, as if their breath were somehow connected and in a manner of speaking, it was. Master and Padawan worked best when all things were bound by internal synchronization. Apparently, this particular unexplored aspect was no exception. The vibration ceased with a quiet rustle of leaves and Qui-Gon released a breath he hadn't realized he still held with a slow, controlled exhalation.

Something clinked with a final tinkle of glass and Qui-Gon chuckled.

"Oh," said Obi-Wan. "I do hope that nothing is broken."

"It matters not." Qui-Gon thumbed away a crinkle of moisture beneath his apprentice's eye. "That which is broken can always be mended in some way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize I hadn't posted the last part of this yet! Forgive me! I hope you have enjoyed the journey as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)


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